Echoes
by AstraPerAspera
Summary: A light hurt and comfort story that somehow morphed into an angst-filled bridge between SGA's Search and Rescue and Stargate Continuum. Sam/Jack ship. Chapter 5 only: major spoilers for Continuum.
1. Chapter 1

**STARGATE SG-1**

**ECHOES**

**By**

**AstraPerAspera**

_**A/N**__: This didn't start out as a bridge from SGA "Search and Rescue" to "Stargate SG1: Continuum", but sometimes a story just takes on a life of it's own. Thanks to mara-anni, who made me write it and then helped me fix it, and to JenniferJF for giving me a glimpse into the future. Contains spoilers for SGA S5 "Search and Rescue" and __**Chapter 5**__ has __**MAJOR**__ spoilers for "Stargate SG:1 Continuum". You were warned._

Chapter 1

"Not exactly the welcome home I had planned, I want you to know."

Jack's muffled voice from the depths of the sofa caused Sam to look up from her book. She hadn't noticed until now how dark the room had become, the late afternoon light swallowed up by line after line of passing thunderstorms coming over the mountains and rain that did not seem to end. The power had gone out about two hours before and the distant rumbling suggested that it wasn't going to be coming back on any time soon. Jack had been drifting in and out of sleep all afternoon, refusing to go to bed and maintaining that he felt "fine". But if the hollowness of his voice was any indication, he probably still felt—and looked—as bad off as he sounded.

"I know," she replied, closing her book and unfolding her legs from the armchair she had curled up in. She couldn't remember when the last time was she'd spent the afternoon just reading. Certainly none of her afternoons in Atlantis had been so indulgent. And considering the over-sized and deliciously comfortable nature of this chair, it occurred to her that she should really have been reading some great work of literature…or at the very least, some steamy romance novel. Instead, she had marked her page in Chapter Five of a book on theoretical time travel, written by a former classmate—now a full professor of quantum theory at Georgetown University. She knew she shouldn't let it bother her, but the fact that two thirds of what he'd written she knew outright to be wrong…not to mention that the book was being highly acclaimed in the field for its ground-breaking (and did she mention, _wrong_) theoretical constructs, irked her, nevertheless. Not that she had any desire for fame or notoriety herself. Been there. Done that. Glad to get back to her own universe. But bad science was bad science. And not being able to tell anyone it was bad science gnawed at her in ways few people could understand.

Not even the man under the comforter on the sofa, who'd once told her that she was a national treasure. Of course that had been before he'd finally told her a lot of other things. Things that meant a whole lot more to her than a comparison to the Declaration of Independence. Things that she kept in her heart and which had brought her solace during her year-long stay in Atlantis, much too far from home. And from him.

She had mixed feelings, admittedly. The decision by the IOA to back away from military leadership of the Atlantis site hadn't bothered her as much as the way they'd handled it. She felt like she'd been yanked off the battlefield in the middle of a fight. Who knew if Michael was dead or not. And there were still threats in Pegasus that Woolsey didn't begin to understand or have the background to deal with. Worse, she felt like she'd let her people down. Run out on them and left them hanging and at the mercy of the ever changing whims of the IOA. She hadn't even been given an opportunity to say a proper good-bye, except through Atlantis' next scheduled dial-in the following day. And she was still waiting for her gear to catch up with her. That took more paperwork than requisitioning a naquada generator.

In spite of her sudden and abrupt reposting, however, she had to admit that she felt a certain sense of relief. For all their head wagging over the military presence in Atlantis, the IOA had been surprisingly positive in her performance review. They'd even gone so far as to state that it was because of her successful leadership there that they felt comfortable returning command of the Atlantis expedition to a civilian. It had alleviated some of the sting. That and the fact that Jack had let her vent about Woolsey for at least a solid half-hour over dinner that evening before finding a suitable way of distracting her for the rest of the night.

All things considered, for her first Full Bird command she felt quite good about it. And, if she had to be honest, not a little relieved to be able to put it behind her. Another galaxy was another galaxy, after all. The past few months since the loss of Midway Station had seemed nothing less than an eternity apart from Jack. Only the seamless sequence of crises with Michael and his hybrids and the search for Teyla had distracted her from the pangs of homesickness she'd felt for him. Which was why, she had to admit, part of her hadn't exactly been put-out when Woolsey was tapped to take her place. He was, after all, her ticket back to earth. Back to the SGC. Back to Jack. Back to her life.

Except now it would be their life.

He'd offered to buy her a ring to go with the proposal, but she'd told him no. In her mind she could never be rid of the memory of Jack snapping shut the ring box that Pete had given her. It had been like a gunshot right through her heart. She understood now how she had hoped he would talk her out of it, validate one of her many excuses for not accepting Pete, or even outright confess his own feelings for her. But he hadn't. For her, shiny engagement rings and black velvet boxes would only ever remind her of that horrible, painful scene.

So she'd accepted the proposal, but turned down the ring. And she didn't wonder but that he understood why. There'd been a knowing look in his eyes that told her he did. Which was good, because she really, really hadn't wanted to explain herself. But, as usual with Jack, she didn't have to. He just knew and accepted it, no questions asked.

"There was supposed to be a party, you know. With cake," Jack's voice emerged once more from the shadows. Setting the book down, Sam went over and sat on the edge of the sofa, feeling his forehead with her hand. His fever was still high.

"I heard," she replied, looking at her watch. Too early for more meds. Not that they were doing much good anyway. They would actually have to stay down long enough to have any effect. "Sounds like fun."

"Woulda been," muttered Jack. "Though I have to say…at the moment…the whole cake thing isn't doin' much for me."

Sam looked at the now empty wastebasket she'd strategically placed by the side of the sofa and could sympathize. She'd had to clean it out twice already.

"I still think you should let Dr. Lam take a look at you. I've never seen you this sick for this long," she admonished him. Not that it would do any good.

"Landry's kid's not poking and prodding me and looking in places she has no business looking. I remember when she was in diapers, for cryin' out loud. Besides. I'm fine. It's just a little upset stomach. I coulda sworn that salsa was still good."

Sam shook her head in exasperation, even as she couldn't help but smile. So Jack. God, how she'd missed him! She hadn't even realized how much until now. It was like being hungry and not knowing it until the plate of food was sitting in front of you. She had been starving for Jack O'Neill. Even if, at the moment, he was sick as a dog.

She felt his forehead again and pressed the back of her hand to his face. It was rough—he hadn't shaved for a couple of days—but she didn't mind. He often ignored his razor whenever they went to the cabin and she had to admit, she rather liked it. And she also liked the fact that the day was soon coming when shaving would be optional for him regardless of location. As soon as they could put this whole Ba'al extraction behind them, Jack's retirement would take effect. No more Washington. No more long distance relationship. No more keeping things quiet and on the low down. And the one ring she would accept from Jack she could wear openly and without any hesitation.

"I told you, I'm fine," Jack growled and she realized she'd gone back to feeling his forehead.

"No—you're not. But since you're going to be stubborn about it, then I suppose you'll just have to suffer." She moved to stand up, but felt his hand grasp her arm.

"Sam…."

She sat back down. Even after all this time, the sound of her name on his lips could catch her off-guard and do strange and wonderful things to her heart.

"Hey…I'm here." She softened her voice and found his hand in the dark, twining her fingers through his, stroking his cheek this time, resisting the urge to check his forehead yet again.

"Not that I'm sick or anything," he began. Sam hid her smile, even though she knew it was unlikely he could see it, now that the room was so drenched in twilight. "But if you wanted to…you know…sit here for a while…I wouldn't exactly mind."

"Really?" She tried to sound disbelieving. She could almost feel him grin.

"Not that I'm sick or anything," he repeated.

"Ah. And the whole, heaving your guts out thing?" she asked. She felt him shrug.

"Oh…that…." There was a pause. "Yes. Well. Let's not dwell, shall we?"

She leaned forward and kissed a forehead that was still way too warm.

"I wouldn't dream of it."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Oh…God!"

The exclamation jerked Sam out of a sound sleep. For a moment she was disoriented. It was her quarters on Atlantis…no…not Atlantis. Earth. The SGC. Not that either. Home. Her home. Her bedroom. And the voice belonged to Jack.

Jack…who was sitting on the edge of the bed, half-doubled over in obvious pain, the slightest of groans escaping from him in the dark. She scrambled across the bed covers to him in an instant, a sudden cold fear tugging at her gut. Jack O'Neill did not cry out and moan in the middle of the night unless something was horribly wrong.

"Jack?" Her mouth had gone so dry she wondered how his name had even taken shape, let alone found a voice to speak it. She wrapped her arms around him and discovered that he was shaking violently. Now that she was close enough, she could even hear his teeth chattering. "Jack—what's wrong?"

"Hurts…a little," he managed through what sounded like gritted teeth. Sam fumbled for the lamp but the switch clicked uselessly. Damn. She'd forgotten about the power. She reached for the battery powered lantern she'd left sitting on the floor and turned it on.

God, he looked awful. Even in the warm glow he was ashen. His stubble-covered cheekbones seemed sunken and hollow, and dark, purple shadows ringed his eyes. As she held him she could feel wave after wave of convulsion coursing through him. Heat radiated from his entire body.

She reached for the phone.

"W-w-what are you d-d-doing?" he stuttered as she began to dial the number.

"Calling 911."

She could see him shake his head, but she wasn't going to take no for an answer this time. He could be so damned stubborn, but then so could she.

"Jack…you're…." But he cut her off.

"No…."

"I'm not going to argue…."

"No ambulance," he insisted, with a half groan. "SGC."

It took her half a beat to comprehend what he meant.

"You want me to drive you?"

He gave what she could best interpret as a nod.

"Jack…an ambulance will get you there in half the time—I'll probably even have them take you to Fort Carson. It's a lot closer than the SGC."

He was shaking his head again and even in the dim light of the lantern she could see the determined set of his jaw.

"No damned ambulance, Carter," he hissed. "And no Army docs." His eyes met hers and she knew then there was no point in arguing. "I'll walk there if I have to," he threatened, just to drive the point home.

She wavered only momentarily on the edge of indecision. If she called for the ambulance there really wasn't a whole lot Jack could do about it, except refuse to go, she supposed. Still, he'd made his preference quite clear. And the SGC probably was the best place for him, all things considered. If she ran into trouble along the way, she could always call for help. Although, to look at him, she wasn't sure how much worse he could get. Which was what frightened her.

"Fine," she replied, hoping her tone of humoring him hid the wellspring of worry that lay beneath. "We'll do it your way." He nodded his head slightly and she could feel some of the tension ease off his shoulders. The earlier pain seemed to have subsided a bit. At least that was something. Now all she had to do was hope that was the worst of it.

"Better call ahead for reservations," he suggested, his voice still strained. A sudden grimace crossed his face and she felt his muscles tense again as another wave must have hit him. Damn.

"Jack?" she asked, gripping his shoulders and holding him even more tightly. Suddenly 911 seemed like a good idea again.

"Bathroom," muttered Jack, sliding out from under her arm and staggering toward the nearby door. As the darkness swallowed him up, a voice entirely too weak to be his instructed: "Dial!"

Obligingly, Sam picked up her phone and called the SGC.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Damn it!"

It was the third time she'd sworn in the last ten minutes. She decided it was better to measure the rate of her expletives in minutes than miles, otherwise it would have been her third time in the last half mile, since that was exactly how far they'd crept in that amount of time. And it didn't look like she was going to be making better progress any time soon if the line of orange barrels and trail of red brake lights stretching in front of her were any indication. Night construction was great in theory. Until you were stuck in it and in a hurry.

"Damn it!"

Four times.

"Careful," mumbled Jack from the darkness beside her. "I might have to write you up for Conduct Unbecoming."

"They keep us sitting here any longer, I'll show them just how unbecoming I can be," she replied, only half joking. A traffic jam. At two in the morning. In Colorado Springs. She never would have believed it.

But then, it wasn't as though she'd been home a lot lately. Or that The Springs even felt much like home anymore. At least not in the way it used to. Home wasn't even really a location any more. The Springs. DC. The cabin. Nice places where she spent her down time. But time there didn't make them home. Jack did. And she had discovered she could feel just as much at home sitting next to him in the SGC briefing room as she could cuddled against him in the Minnesota backwoods, although…all things being equal, she much preferred the cabin.

"Easy, Colonel." Jack's voice drifted to her from the darkness again. What sounded like a half-stifled groan followed. She took her eyes off the unmoving cars in front of her and tried to gauge his condition by the reflected light from the taillight ahead of her. Maybe it was because of the red tint in the light, but it seemed to her that he looked even worse than before.

She should have ignored him and called 911 anyway. Better to have dealt with an angry Jack than take this risk. She eyed her cell phone on the seat next to her and wondered if she should pull off and call for help now. It was tempting.

"Don't even think about it," growled Jack. He must have caught her glance toward the phone. "I'll be fine. Now…just drive."

She risked another look at him. In spite of his attempted nonchalance, she could tell that the pain was even worse this time. His lips were thin with the effort it was obviously taking to deal with whatever was assaulting his body. Beads of sweat clung to his hairline and he seemed to be attempting to modulate his breathing. For Jack to even show this much meant he had to be in agony. It was all she could do to keep from leaning on the horn and driving through the orange barrels. The breath she realized she'd been holding came hissing through her teeth.

She wasn't used to this anymore. It had been a long time since that staff weapon blast had nearly killed him on P3X-666. Years since she'd watched him lose himself to the Ancient Database. She'd been only his 2IC then--careful to try to keep the distance that was so necessary between them, even though she herself had died a little inside each time she nearly lost him. Her worst fear, that some damned goa'uld would ultimately be the death of him, had plagued her until the day he'd left for DC. And as difficult and lonely as these past years of separation had been, she at least had taken some comfort in knowing that he was safely out of the line of fire behind his desk in the Pentagon.

Which perhaps was why seeing him like this had caught her off guard. She had gotten so used to thinking of him as safe and impervious to harm that she hadn't even considered anything as insignificant as what she'd assumed to be a garden-variety stomach virus as any kind of serious threat. But more than that, it hit her with all the subtlety of a crowbar that nothing about their future was one hundred percent guaranteed. It was a fact she had tried to shove aside when she'd headed for Atlantis, convincing herself—with Jack's help—that really, they had all the time in the world and this would be a good thing for her and for her career. She hadn't exactly been out of harm's way, but at least she hadn't been on the frontline team anymore, taking the hits and putting it all on the line every time she stepped through the gate.

But she realized now she had just been kidding herself. Yes. She'd gotten valuable command experience, and yes, she'd proven to herself, and anyone else who'd doubted, that she could work without the net that was Jack O'Neill or Hank Landry. But the cost had been high and the payment had come at the expense of her personal life yet again. As much as she had accomplished in her year on Atlantis, she had given up at least as much in return. Who knew; maybe even more. A lost year with Jack was a year she would never, ever be able to get back. A year out of what she now realized, watching helplessly as he began to shake yet again, could conceivably be entirely too few to begin with. The days when they were exposed to Jaffa staff weapons and zat blasts and dagger-wielding maniacs might be behind them; but that didn't mean that they had forever at their disposal. They might not even have tomorrow.

The sound of a horn behind her yanked her out of her own thoughts. The car ahead of her had moved up a good twenty-feet and seemed to be crawling slowly forward again. Taking her foot off the brake she rolled forward, praying that she was moving for good this time. A faint moan came from the seat beside her and she cursed again under her breath. Glancing at Jack one more time she saw that he had leaned back in the seat, his eyes closed, his face impossibly even more deathly pale. He seemed absolutely still.

A moment of irrational panic seized her, her heart stopping in mid-beat.

"Jack?!"

His eyes flew open and her heart began to beat once more in her chest.

"What?" he asked, raising his head slightly and sounding almost like himself—as though he might be able to spring into action if it were absolutely necessary. Sam chided herself for disturbing him, relief catching at her throat as she tried once more to breathe.

"Nothing…sorry…go back to sleep," she stammered and was gratified to see him close his eyes and lean his head back again. Her heart was still pounding ridiculously fast as she took another deep breath and forced her concentration back on the road ahead. The momentary rush of adrenaline had her still gripping the wheel so hard that her knuckles ached and she focused deliberately on making herself release the tension that made her feel like an unsprung spring.

At last the traffic seemed to be picking up speed—in front of her there wasn't a brake light in sight. And mercifully she could see an "End Construction" sign florescently orange in the night work lights about a quarter of a mile ahead. Encouraging the gas pedal a little more, she eased over into the now available fast lane and passed up the cars ahead of her. A quick glance at Jack assured her that he had closed his eyes again and was resting. But she couldn't rid herself of the nagging image she'd had of him moments before. It was time to put some of her legendary speeding skills to work.

Feeling like she was fighting time, Sam floored it.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Toldcha it was the salsa," Jack looked at her from beneath his hand that half covered his eyes as a weak smirk played briefly on his lips.

Sam sat on the edge of the infirmary bed, relieved that it was one of those rare times when no one in the SGC was in need of medical attention. Even the nurse who had come in and checked Jack's IV had blessedly vanished. Well. It was the middle of the night, after all. Which had made for some rather unusual looks among the Non-Coms when she'd brought General O'Neill in at three in the morning not wearing anything even close to his uniform. This would only add to the whispers, she was sure. But by now she was beyond caring. In a few days it wouldn't matter anyway. Then people could talk all they wanted.

"But this time it wasn't my fault…," he added, pointing at her with his IV tube-adorned hand. "I want that on the record."

"I'll make a note of it," she told him, trying not to let her own weariness come through. It hadn't taken the doctor long to identify the symptoms as a classic case of food poisoning. And not just Jack either—some kind of multi-state outbreak, it seemed. Tomatoes. Or peppers. Or something. Apparently it had been in the news—not that Sam had even seen a television for months until a few days ago. The details had slid past her, though. The only bit of intel she was interested in was Jack's well-being. According to the doctor, he would be fine. That was all that mattered to her.

"You okay?"

She glanced up at him and saw that he was studying her, brown eyes almost black in the dimmed light of the infirmary. He was still pale behind nearly three days growth of beard, but his color had improved some. She remembered her moment of panic on the drive in and felt all the more foolish for it. She was tired, was all. A lot had happened in only a few days, and it was all just catching up with her. Still…the intensity of Jack's gaze was almost more than she could take. She manufactured a smile and dropped her eyes, lest he should see too much of what she knew she couldn't hide.

"Just…tired, I guess," she admitted, hoping that some fragment of the truth would suffice. "Anyway…the doctor said you should be fine in a couple of days."

"Wouldn't want to miss the Tok'ra's big shindig, would we?" he deadpanned. Sam couldn't stop the sigh that escaped.

"What…not on your Top Ten list of 'Things to do now that I'm back on earth'?" he probed.

She allowed herself to glance at him. This time his gaze would not let her go.

"Not really," she confessed, with a shrug. Truth be told, she couldn't think of anything she'd looked _less_ forward to in a long time. She just wished the Tok'ra would do what they had to do and be done with it. An audience hardly seemed necessary.

"Well, I can't say there aren't a few other things I'd rather be doing myself," he agreed. "Once you spring me from here, that is."

She shook her head vehemently.

"Oh no…not after I broke about a half dozen speeding laws just to get you here. You're staying put until Dr. Lam gives you the all clear."

He looked like he was going to make some retort about her driving, but seemed to think the better of it. Instead, his face passed from playful to serious.

"Sam…go home. You look almost as bad as I feel."

"No…I'm good. Really."

"Hey…." His hand reached for hers. It was refreshingly cool to the touch. The fever had come down. At last. "It's me you're talking to, you know. Go on. Get out of here. Get some rest."

His thumb played gently over her hand; their subtle signal when the risk of being discovered was too high. Easily disguised in a casual handshake in the midst of a crowded room. As tired as she was, the sensation of his touch was still electrifying. She felt her cheeks grow warm in spite of herself.

"You first," she answered, placing her other hand on his chest. The rhythmic up and down of his now pain-free breathing was comforting. Through the infirmary issue scrubs she could feel the steady beating of his heart. It made it easier to let go of that memory from the car.

"Oh fine," he said, feigning grumpiness. He sighed exaggeratedly and closed his eyes, settling his head deeper into the pillow. She felt herself smile as she watched him. He looked tired, certainly, but the pallor that had been there before was most certainly gone. Leaning forward to kiss him, it suddenly occurred to her where she was, and she drew back. Not here. Not yet. Not while he was still General O'Neill and she was Colonel Carter. At least this wasn't like before, when she'd sat by his bedside with no hope of him ever knowing how she felt. Still, there was some echo of that ache of not being all she wanted to be for him in the moment he most needed it. The moment _she_ most needed it. She would have given anything right then to be able to press her lips to his to say good-bye. Instead she simply squeezed his hand.

"Go," he murmured, eyes still shut.

Not trusting her voice, she slid quietly off the edge of the bed, but his hand held onto hers a half a heartbeat longer before letting go.

A few more days, that was all. Once the Tok'ra ceremony was behind them, a whole new life awaited them.

She could wait.

A few more days, and then she wouldn't have to let go.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

She couldn't breathe. She could barely think. Incredulity paralyzed her, froze her to the spot, her mind fumbling for comprehension. None came.

Blood pooled from beneath him. Dark and savage and impossible.

Impossible. This was impossible. It was not happening. It could not be happening.

Except…oh God…it was.

A giant fist reached inside her chest and wrenched her heart from her, squeezing it upon extraction.

No. God. No.

No. No. No. No. NO!

Jack…

His name formed inside her head; her heart… aching as if it too had been stabbed…screamed "Jack", but somehow, in spite of herself, it still had come out "Sir…."

Shouts. Cries behind her. A warning. An order. She didn't know. She didn't care. Who the hell cared about anything anyway. Not now.

The pool deepened. Darkened. She was losing him. He was leaving her. She had finally come home for good, and he was leaving her. Alone. And for what? Why? What point was all this? A stupid ceremony? It made no sense. In the great cosmic universe of logic, it made no sense whatsoever.

But no one ever said logic dictated the universe.

And no one had ever promised her a happily ever after.

And Jack was dying in front of her and all she could do was stare at him and call him "Sir".

And wish that she were dying too. Except that she already was.

She couldn't breathe. She could barely think.

"Go to the gate."

No.

Never. Never. Never.

_Sir…just go…_

_NO!_

No.

"Not without you!"

Never without him. Because there was nothing without him.

"Go."

Go. There was no where to go. Nothing to do. And she would not leave him. She would not budge one inch from his side. Not now. Not ever.

Under her hand she felt the last shudder, heard his last faint, trembling breath. And suddenly there was nothing. No steady rise and fall of his chest. No comforting beat of his heart. No hand to grasp hers in silent meaning.

This could not be. This could NOT be. A thousand words of denial swirled as a storm through her mind.

How could she leave? How could she leave him alone, here, of all places, among those whom he hated, those whom he never could trust? She would never leave him. She would rather die than leave him.

_Go. _

His last command. His last request. Grief she could not swallow made way for some nebulous understanding. _This_ is wrong. _This_ should not be. Somehow he had guessed. Somehow he had known. Known enough to trust her to fix it.

_Go._

But she'd rather not. She'd rather stay here for a moment or an eternity rather than leave him behind.

We don't leave our people behind.

_Go._

_Yes, Sir._

It was the general's last command.

Colonel Carter obeyed.

Samantha Carter stayed behind and died.


End file.
